Appreciate
by Unsuspected
Summary: Things are dangerous as a half-blood, especially when there's a war approaching. You can lose hope, forget about the things you love. Forget what's important. Hold onto the things you appreciate. Collecetion of one-shots
1. Change

Katie came to the strawberry fields at camp daily. Every day Katie would kneel next to the same small plant in the middle of the fields and notice something different about it. There was always something new about it that amazed her. It was truly fascinating.

There could be another blossom on the plant. Katie would look at it, absorbing every last detail for hours. It stunned her, how quickly things could change. It was beautiful. The berries could be a shade or two redder than when she last looked at them. She admired the glossy shine of the berries as they grew to the startling red they were known to be. Sometimes, even though she was fully aware of the fact the berries had the help of her cabin, Demeter, and the satyrs, she was shocked to see the progress the strawberries had made since her previous visit. A berry or so could have been picked. She would notice that immediately. When that happened she would smile softly at the growth she had witnessed. Katie had seen the plants grow from the seeds they were at first, to bright, full, red berries being picked and sold to restaurants all around New York. She loved being there for it all.

Every time she arrived at the plant she would feel peace wash over her at once. The second Katie felt the soil surround her feet and smelled the sweet scent of the berries there were no family problems, no war, and no Stolls. All that there was to Katie was the beauty of these strawberry plants. It was perfect simplicity and serenity. Nothing in the world could possibly be better than this. Every last worry she had washed away upon seeing the plants. Nothing troubled her there. No matter how badly she was hurt, no matter how angry she was, no matter how many problems camp was facing, Katie couldn't stop the smile from appearing on her face when she entered this wonderful place.

She supposed part of the satisfaction that came from this was because she was a child of Demeter; it was natural for her to love the strawberry fields and planting. However, there was something about it that wasn't there with her siblings. They loved gardening and watching plants grow as well, but none of them ever felt the same way that Katie did when she was there. Something special came over her when she was in that place. She didn't know why. It just was. There was no explanation for why she adored the times when she came to the plant so much. Katie simply loved the strawberry fields. No other place or activity made her feel like this. Perfection was the only word to describe the sensation of going to the fields. Her normally jumpy self that came with being ADHD disappeared. Nothing was wrong there. It was her escape.

She would glance up occasionally from observing the tiny plant and get distracted from it. When that happened, for a moment she felt all of her worries come back for a moment, as if she had left the serene strawberry fields and returned to the gloomy days of preparation for the upcoming Titan war. The spell was broken, and Katie felt as if her world had come crumbling down for a moment. Then, the second her brown eyes moved back toward the plant, again she was caught up in the magical beauty of the strawberry plant in the middle of the fields. It was crazy, but it happened like that.

Maybe it was seeing something grow. Katie considered that once after sitting there for hours in complete disregard to her schedule. Instead of archery, pegasus riding, and chores, she had been studying a particularly bright berry in bliss. Soon it would be plucked from the plant by a camper. Katie had watched that same berry come from nothing, to a small bud, to a flower, to a small, white, misshapen thing that no one would ever classify as a berry, to a pink and round fruit, to this widely considered perfect strawberry. The magic could have been in seeing everything. Watching the berry become a berry could have been the reason it made her so joyful. Seeing every last detail of its growth may have been the cause of her daily smile in the strawberry fields. Possibly, witnessing it growing from a miniscule, unimportant seed, to a gleaming, red, delicious berry was what made the corners of her lips turn up when she saw the plant. It could have been that.

It could have been the silence. That was possible, as well, but Katie doubted it. She never was the biggest fan of silence. This silence was different, however. It wasn't the kind of silence that made people impatient and embarrassed. It was more the type of silence to relax people, and maybe get them to think. Even though she loved the quietness of her moments there, that wasn't her favorite part.

_Well?_ Katie asked herself mentally. _What is the best part? What brings the perfection encountered every day in those fields? Why are they so special?_

She gazed down at the newly planted strawberry plant and knew why she cherished her moments here so much. She enjoyed seeing them change. She loved seeing the plans defying anyone's expectations of them. Her favorite part of this was the knowledge that they would change, and become gorgeous, tasty strawberries. The tiny, boring seeds would become these. Some people didn't like change or didn't accept it. Katie welcomed it with open arms. Change was Katie's favorite thing.

* * *

**A/N: I think this is an okay start. Sort of repetitve. But I like it, anyway. I considered adding Tratie because everyone loves that, but the only thing I risked putting in was "and no Stolls." Why? Because one I suck at romance. Really, you should know. Maybe I'll try Tratie later on. So, for all of the people who actually read A/Ns, this is going to be a multi-chapter thing, as you can probably guess from the info you looked at while deciding whether or not to read this...By the wa, thatks for that. I am open to requests if you'd like to see something specific, but otherwise, I'll just be doing my own little thing with things people can appreciate. That would be it. Thanks for reading!  
-Lexi**


	2. Solitude

Darkness surrounded Nico. The only thing visible was black. There was no way at all to see—even for Nico. The loudest sound within miles of the boy was the faint rhythm of his footsteps. He loved it.

He had left the camp two weeks ago through a strange rock. After that he had somehow ended up here. Wherever here was, Nico had no idea. But it was dark and silent. It was the perfect place for him. The depressing feel of the room was what his sister deserved as she was being mourned. Unlike the happy feel of camp, this place provided a better atmosphere to think about his sister. Complete darkness was what he needed, not pats on the back and friendly smiles. No matter what anyone said, he was too old for that, he had insisted. The eerie silence suited his mood and the blackness felt comfortable. Nico was as happy as he could be after losing his sister.

For whatever reason, darkness had always soothed Nico. Unlike most children, he had never wanted a nightlight. He always wanted that full vision of black. It didn't feel dangerous. It actually felt calming. He had never been afraid of the dark; he never saw any reason to be. For some reason, he had always felt more at home in that shadowy environment. It made no sense to him, but now, nothing in Nico's life made sense. His strange habits were becoming more peculiar. He had every reason to question his love of the dark, yet he never did, not once. Nico just accepted it.

The silence was beautiful, but not in the sappy way it is in romance films where everything seems perfect and the spectacularly cliché couple leans in to share a kiss. It was beautiful in the way that Nico had time to think. He had time to sort things out. At times the quietness would deafen him. It would make him want to scream and break it all. Something about it would make him stay still, however. He didn't want to disturb it. The soundless air was like a dangerous animal, something terrifying, fascinating, wonderful, and undisturbed at all costs. Nico did his best to keep his footsteps and breathing as quiet as possible. It felt like it would be a crime to ruin the graceful sound of nothing. He had to adore the silence. Even in his depressed state, Nico smiled at the way it was so placid and uninterrupted. He hadn't smiled much since his sister had gone, but there was no way not to appreciate the quietness.

Lying on his back, Nico gazed up at what was either a ceiling or a very black sky. He wouldn't know, for he had no source of light. He assumed that somewhere way up there, or possibly a few feet above his height (Nico had no way of knowing; he couldn't see three inches in front of himself), there was a ceiling, because there would most likely be at least one star, plane, or _something,_in the sky. Some part of this was acceptable. Not knowing was something Nico had learned to deal with. Not knowing was his life. Not knowing his parents, not knowing the first eight or nine years of his life, not knowing how he ended up at Westover Hall, not knowing anything was just another part of Nico's life by now. He had learned to accept, and even sort of enjoy being unaware of something. Sometimes it stopped you from seeing painful things that you wished you hadn't. Like Bianca. He wished he didn't know about Bianca. He wished he hadn't been so sure of her death. Maybe if he hadn't known, he could believe that she was still alive out in the desert. Maybe he could convince himself that Zoë, Percy, Thalia, and Grover just didn't look hard enough, and she was out there somewhere. In this darkness, Nico could believe that Bianca's spirit was next to him. He could pretend like Bianca was sitting beside him without saying anything, but still managing to comfort him. That was how things were before she joined the Hunters, went on the quest, and left him forever. That was the way things had always worked. He could fool himself into believing that this was still how things worked. If he could do this, he almost felt secure. If he convinced himself that Bianca was still with him, maybe he could get some sleep. With the idea in his head, things felt okay.

Nothing could stay okay, though. Nico's life was never an easy ride. Sunlight, noise, other people within two miles of him—all of those things would interrupt his perfect dreams of having his sister with him again. Dreams. They disturbed him, too. Dying people, especially Bianca, would interrupt his pleasant thoughts. He wished that he could be truly alone. Having Bianca with him would have been fantastic, but, for now, that was out of reach. Being alone with no sounds, light, or people to disturb him would be wonderful. It would be as close to perfection as he would get now.

You would think Nico would become lonely. He never did. Sure, he missed his sister. That couldn't be avoided, but he felt at home. The darkness that surrounded him was like a soft, warm blanket. It was comforting, yet he still had no idea why. The silence was his lullaby. No one was there to put his thoughts to an end. He loved it.

* * *

**A/N: So, Nico. That was fun. Ha. Short-lived, more like it. And yes. I did in fact repeat "He loved it." on purpose. 'Cuz I'm a jerk. Well. Anyway. Nico is Nico. I'm still unsure. Sort of like it, but sort of don't. It's ish. Sorry. Only about .5% of the population understands why I'm laughing at that. Okay. So, that would be chapter two, I suppose. Updates either really soon, or Sunday or something (if you care)... I'm unpredictable like that.  
-Lexi**


	3. Laughter

Everyone was frowning. Not a single laugh was to be heard. No shining smiles could be spotted around Camp Half-Blood. This wasn't like before. This wasn't training; it wasn't play. This was real. It was wartime now. War preparation, war strategies, missions, etc. It was all so much different. A few of them had seen friends die. Plenty had seen someone close to them get disturbingly injured. No matter how many jokes they told, Connor and Travis couldn't erase those memories. No matter how many bad (or good) jokes they told, no matter how funny they were, the war still clung to the camper's minds.

They pulled a really good prank off. Seriously good, they thought. It was well thought out and clever. Before, it would have made everyone laugh, or at least crack a smile. Now, they just smiled sadly, as if this were a pleasant memory, or told the Stolls to get back to their sword fighting class. ("This is serious, boys." or "Grow up already! We don't need to deal with your stupid pranks!") It didn't make sense. They should be enjoying life while they still had lives, right? Tomorrow they could be dead. Tomorrow everyone the ever knew could be dead. And they wouldn't have done anything to make their last days memorable.

"Dude," Travis said to his brother, "why can't we prank anyone? I mean, they were already strict enough—"

"Especially the Demeter cabin. Gods, they are so annoying. They nag. They yell. And, most terrible of all, they plant flowers."

"Tell me about it. Honestly, where's the sense in stopping us from having a bit of fun. We might as well get some laughs before…" Travis's voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. Connor understood perfectly. The unfinished sentence seemed complete. Before we die, he was saying, before everyone we've ever known leaves us. It was obvious. They didn't need to be said, and it was better that they were left unsaid and unheard. Connor didn't need or want to hear his brother say that; it would be the end. It would be the end of everything. It would be hitting rock bottom. Nothing could get worse than hearing cheerful Travis say that there was no hope.

Now nothing was right. Seeing everyone walking sadly around Camp made everything feel so different. Not a single person had a smile on their face. Usually, it was harder to spot a sad, angry or serious face (unless you looked in the Ares cabin) than a smiling one. Why was now so different? They needed good times more than anything now. What else would keep them going? The hard work couldn't do it; if anything, it would make the campers less motivated. It was "Okay you're doing a great job! Now, I'll annoy you even further by having you do more work! Yay!" Obviously, this was not the type of attitude the Stolls enjoyed. That was not the attitude they enjoyed at all.

"…And that, my friends, is why we are no longer welcome in any Wal-Mart in the world," Travis concluded dramatically. He and his brother held their arms up theatrically, waiting for the campers to burst into applause mixed with laughter.

The campfire shone bright purple, casting light on the faces of laughing friends that circled it. Their eyes glittered with happiness. Not a single frown, no matter how hard you looked into the crowd, could be seen in the sea of people.

"Any other stories for us, Stoll?" a fellow Hermes camper shouted unnecessarily; the boys were sitting beside him.

The boys looked at each other mischievously. The looks on the brothers' faces mirrored one another. "Oh," they said in unison, "we have plenty."

All of the campers cheered for the boys as they began retelling the story of the time they discovered that their childhood pet, a lizard, turned out to be a monster. It was easily one of the scariest and most amusing moments in the Stolls' lives. Who would have suspected itty-bitty Fluffy IV (They had terrible luck with their oddly named pets, but none this bad. Therefore, this was the last Fluffy to be owned by either of the Stoll brothers) to be a Hydra?

Sitting around the campfire that night was one of the best moments of Travis and Connor's lives.

It was before the prophecy trouble. It was before everything was so serious. Things were easier then. Much easier.

* * *

They had finished singing now, and everyone was in that in between state where everyone stares awkwardly at each other, silently debating who's going to leave first.

"Hey," Connor said, surprising himself. "Anyone want to hear some jokes?"

"No, Travis," an Aphrodite girl said tiredly, "we don't actually care for your lame jokes.'

"I'm not Travis!" Connor said angrily. "I'm, like, ten times better looking!"

A couple people grinned.

"Ten times better looking? Oh, I'm so sure."

"Now that we've got you're attention," a brother said, as if they had planned the whole thing out.

The rest of his sentence was left unheard due to the many whispers of the half-bloods.

"I'll take that as a yes."

The night was filled with pathetic jokes, exaggerated, but hilarious stories, laughter, and grins.

* * *

**A/N: So... The Stolls. I considered adding some Tratie toward the end, but I felt like I would be making Connor hate me. Y'know? No. That was just strange. Plus, it wouldn't really go with the story, now would it? I don't really like the shortness of it. Especailly the end. Am I the only one who thinks things look a little bit better on word than they do here? Maybe it's just me. But I do prefer the white on black screen. That's what I have it set to when I read. Helps me stay focused for whatever reason. Well, that was random. Anyway. That would be it for today. Thanks for reading!  
-Lexi**


	4. Knowing

In a world of confusion, there was always knowledge there to comfort Annabeth. Always. It was consistently there. Knowledge didn't betray you. It never strayed from your mind as people strayed from your life. It was unfailing. Unchanging. Persistent. Never did it leave her. On her quests, at "home", that awful place with her father, stepmother and half-brothers, at camp, everywhere she went, her knowledge went with her. That was more than she could say for anything or anyone else. Luke. He was with her, but not with her. This fact on its own confused people enough to drive them to the point of breaking down completely. But knowing something—a monster, a building, anything—was more certain than anything else. Like the foundation of a great building, it was forever there, keeping her from falling apart. It was the thing keeping her from collapsing painfully, tragically onto the cold, hard, unforgiving ground.

"Scythian dracaena," she said clearly into the Iris Message to Percy, who should be better with his myths by now. "That's what you saw. Snake woman, you said, right?"

The boy nodded, and his black hair fell toward his eyes, becoming even messier than before, something that was hardly thought possible by anyone (particularly Annabeth and his mother). "That's right."

Annabeth couldn't help but smile inwardly at his reply. (It wasn't that it was _his_ reply, obviously. She would have rather been talking to someone else than this stupid Son of Poseidon. It would have most likely been a more pleasant conversation had it been with someone aside from him.) "I assume you can take it, if it comes your way," she assured him somewhat truthfully.

She wasn't sure, but she swore she saw that strange combination of a grin and a frown on the boy's face. He mumbled something softly. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought there was a sort of laughter to be heard in his strange mutterings, making it even less understandable. "She always knows," she decided was what Percy had said, though she wasn't sure of it.

"Sorry?" she asked innocently, as if she hadn't heard a thing from the Son of Poseidon.

"Have you ever met a monster you couldn't name?" he smiled.

Annabeth wondered if the annoying boy was teasing her or admiring her. He was Percy, after all. She chose not to respond. Just to be safe.

There was a pause.

"Well, thanks. Just in case it attacked me or something." He chuckled lightly, interrupting the thought. "Y'know. So I can say 'Oh, no! I'm going to get killed by a monster! But I'll get killed sounding smart—'"

"That would be the least likely death for you. You think you'll sound intelligent when you die? You can hardly manage that normally."

"Shut up," he told her, despite the fact that he laughed at her interruption. "Anyway, as I was saying, before you rudely interrupted, I could be all, 'It's a Scythian dracaena. My friend told me what it was called, acted like I could fight it off, when as a matter of fact, I can't."

"Whatever, Percy. If that's all you wanted, I suppose we should be saying goodbye; I can't afford to be spending several more drachmas than I should on an IM with you that lost its point ages ago, seeing as you don't seem to care about hearing the myth. I might have to contact camp."

"Okay. 'Spose I appreciate your help and all. Bye," he finished, and slashed through the mist, getting rid of their connection.

Another plus, Annabeth was reminded by this incident, was how useful knowledge was. It had saved her life and her friends' lives countless times. Just knowing the name of the monster and a little bit of the myth could save them. Usually, she knew more than that, seeing as it was more useful to have plenty of facts, but any piece helped. If the name came to her mind, she would almost certainly live. As long as she could recall the myth, she was safe (assuming Annabeth had the proper supplies to handle the beast she was faced with). Her constant companion was also a life-saver.

"Oh," Percy said stupidly, "I get it now."

"Sure. Well, the myth goes like this:" Annabeth went on and on about whatever monster it was and how the hero of the myth defeated the monster. She would tangle her fingers through each other, or brush a curly blond piece of hair that had fallen from her ponytail away thoughtfully. She would get caught up in the story, hardly aware of the little movements she made. The myth was the only thing on her mind for the few pleasant minutes it took her to describe it. "So," she concluded, coming out of the tale, back into their own situation, "that's how you defeat it."

Usually, whatever plan she had used from the story worked, and once again her brain had gotten them out of a bad situation. It wasn't luck that kept her alive all these years; it was her wisdom.

It was very possibly the thing she loved most in the world. The pride that fell over her when he knew the answer, the solution, was impossible to top. It couldn't be beaten. Knowing exactly how something could be fixed was her idea of perfection.

In a world of uncertainty, it was nice to know the answers to some things. Even if it was just the name of a monster, it helped. Even if it was just how many years it took to construct a building. Even if it was the smallest fact, the most minuscule piece of information, it made her feel safe. It made her feel like there was some sort of security in the world. No matter minor her solution was, it made Annabeth feel like she could fix something bigger. It made her feel like she could fix this chaos that they were all in. Maybe everyone could stop drowning in all the problems of Olympus, stop being destroyed by the negativity. Maybe she could be the one to save everyone from the bitter war. Maybe, with these little bits of knowledge, she could save everyone.

* * *

**AN: This took forever to get on here. There may be some issues with it because I had it written when I first started this collection, but I never got around to it until now. The second to last blurb-like paragraph thing was actually inspired by some totally unrelated thing I was working on for myself. Hopefully, this was somewhat decent. Hm...  
-Lexi**


	5. Bravery

He never was like Percy, Grover reflected. He never had the courage to do things like that. He had other good qualities, of course, but he had never been as brave (stupid, Annabeth called it, but there was no denying the fact that the boy was daring) as Percy.

Grover had nearly abandoned the quest before it had even begun, suggesting Maine (where had he come up with that?) as an alternative to the realm of Hades. Percy, who was just as unprepared, if not less prepared, for this dangerous quest. Percy had stood up to a god. He stood up to Ares, the god of war. Idiotic, maybe, but the bold act stood out. Grover had stayed back; praying to every god he could think of that his best friend in the world would live. His tin can…as if that would mean much. It was important to Grover, of course, but, quite frankly, he was half goat, and obviously didn't value the same things a human (or half-blood) did. That was just in a single summer, those two incidents, and there were a million more from that year…and the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that, et cetera.

Percy left camp without permission, something no one had dared do before. ("Extremely stupid, brave, heroic, but very stupid," Annabeth told the boys.) Once it had been for him, another time for the daughter of Athena he seemed to be getting closer to (not that this piece of information had anything at all to do with him). Grover supposed he would have done it for Pan, if he hadn't found him, but returned to camp. He, of course, would never find out now. He might do it if Juniper were in danger, which was unlikely. Plus, seeing as he was a member of the Council now, he wouldn't have to worry as much about getting permission to leave. Percy had faced countless monsters on the way to rescuing his friends. Sometimes single handedly (complete disaster, apparently), sometimes with friends. Once, while the other members of the quest were fighting off the skeleton-but-not-just-bones monsters, Grover was unconscious. How helpful he was.

He stayed there, at Mount St. Helens, awaiting death. He let Annabeth go. (It was yet another idiotic move according to the girl.) Percy Jackson had risked his life. He had stayed there, telekhines ready to destroy him, ready to tear the hero to shreds. But he fought bravely and managed to come out alive.

The River Styx showed another part of the boy's courage. Actually, everything he did, everywhere he went, some sign of the Sea God's son and his fearlessness. He dared to dive into the deadly black waves of the threatening river inside the Underworld. He survived. Despite the odds, Percy lived through it. Grover couldn't imagine it. The entire war, the teenager stayed bold. (Except, of course, the times when he honestly had no idea that he needed to be courageous. However, not much could be done about his friend's foolishness.) The black-haired boy was a fantastic leader for the campers.

Grover could never believe how absolutely daring his best friend was. He had always been ready to stand up for himself and others, as Grover noticed the first day he met the boy he was meant to protect. But, the satyr never imagined he would keep this attitude he had toward school bullies as he fought monsters so horrible his dreams would be haunted forever with their images. No matter how many horrifying, bloody, scaly creatures the half-blood was faced with, he never lost his strength. In fact, the boy was even known to say some fairly interesting things to the monsters he fought. (Grover remembered his friend's request to the Fury—"Eat my pants!" in Latin.) As the monsters got more terrible, Percy seemed more prepared to fight than ever. Grover seemed more prepared to faint than ever. It was a very noticeable difference—clenched jaw and eyes burning with hate for the thing threatening his friends and a very pale face, wide eyes, and a silent scream coming from the mouth of a very scared-looking goat boy. Even so, however, Grover was set on being the bravest satyr there ever was. (He knew what his friends would say: "You find Pan, go on a million quests, fight a war, become a member of the Council of Cloven Elders, and so many other things, and you think you're not brave enough. You think you haven't accomplished enough. I'd like to know what part of this is slacking off.")

And now, after the war, Percy had performed yet another heroic feat. He had gotten a girlfriend. Brave beyond brave, Grover thought. It had taken him ages to talk to or even look at Juniper. He had know for years that he was in love with her (obsessed with her some said), yet it had taken him ages to tell her. And Percy, Grover knew, had only just recently discovered how he felt about the girl he'd known for so long, for Percy's emotions were always somewhat unreadable—confusion most of the time, with thousands of other feelings stirred into his head, contradicting one another, but working in harmony—his head was a total train wreck. It had hardly been a long time before he spoke to the girl, telling her this. It had hardly been a long time before they kissed. Grover was also aware of the fact that it was a million times harder to do tell one of your best friends about this than to tell a wood nymph, especially if you happened to have known this friend for about four years, and gone through pretty much everything with the person. Somehow, Percy managed. Not only had he been courageous enough to accept the feeling, he'd done something. ("It took him long enough.") He'd done several seemingly impossible things.

Ever time Grover would think about the brave deeds of his best friend, he would smile. Each time the idea of his friend's nerve would cross his mind; Grover would grin, no matter how he was feeling. When thoughts of Percy's courage decided to pass by, Grover would allow his lips to curve upward, and let himself make a promise, a wish—to be as brave as his friend if he ever got the chance. Because that fearlessness was something to behold.

Grover didn't know it, but he mirrored that same bravery he admired in his friend.

* * *

**AN: This is probably the only one that will be set after the Titan war. I felt the need to include some more, because I wanted to keep the scenes shorter, but have about the same amount of writing. I felt like things would just be way too repetitive (as it already slightly is) if I wrote detailed accounts of Percy's heroic feats. I also hate my word repetition. I mean, practically every other word is "brave." It annoys me. Sorry for the choppiness. You can probably see where my documents program on my phone decided to delete everything I'd written from a certain point. I like the last line, though. I think Grover doesn't get enough credit from people, especially me, so I thought I'd give him that line.  
-Lexi**


	6. Touch

Annabeth stared at the boy beside her for a moment. It was nearly pitch black in here. It was cold, damp, unpleasant, and secretly, Annabeth thought it was terrifying. Everyone there was dead. There was the crabby ferryman with a taste for Italian suits, Charon, if he counted. Being immortal might be different than being truly alive, she wasn't sure. Aside from him, there was Grover. The sweet satyr, the goat boy that sent her to Camp when she was seven stood in the boat trembling nervously. His hands shook quickly, making it clear he was frightened out of his mind. Then, there was Percy, the boy beside her, the kid that knew nothing, who could also be referred to as the newly discovered demigod that she couldn't stand in the least. He stood in his place next to her stiffly. His eyes were wide. She could see him trying to keep calm through the shadowy darkness of the area. Annabeth bit her lip and her hand shot out toward the Son of Poseidon and grasped his fiercely. Her hand squeezed his tightly, and Annabeth assumed that if she could see its color, purple would first come to mind. She desperately needed to hold his hand, though. She needed to know there was someone else there, too. She had to be aware that there was another living thing here with her. She had to be one hundred percent sure that there was another living, breathing thing standing with her. Mostly, Annabeth wanted a friend (even if he hardly qualified as more than a way to get out of Camp into the real world). She wanted that feeling of being fully confident that everything is okay. She wanted what she had hardly known her entire life. Looking back on the moment, it was never clear why she chose to hold Percy's hand rather than Grover's. It hardly mattered. All that was important was that she felt the sense of unwavering security the moment her skin touched his. The sense of protection she had been looking for was found.

The beautiful song danced toward Annabeth's ears, begging the girl to come. The musical whispers of the Sirens told her to abandon the old ship, to come and enjoy this perfect life with Luke and her reunited parents in a world she had designed on her own. Pleasant-sounding voices welcomed her into this flawless existence. All she had to do was swim. She just had to escape the evil ropes holding her from this brilliance and swim. So she did. Annabeth swam, and swam, the gorgeous image getting clearer and clearer as she came closer to it. The melodic voices became more noticeable, more soothing. As soon as she swam to shore, the dream world would be hers forever. Annabeth could live in this perfection for the rest of her days. Then, suddenly, a hand grabbed her ankle. A shock went through her body, interrupting her fantasy world. Were those vultures sitting there in place of Luke and her parents? It couldn't have been those hideous creatures sitting there. The setting couldn't truly have been the horrible place she now saw. Her parents and Luke were sitting right there. They were sitting right there in the beautiful city she had designed. This was not it. Before she could figure out how the voices had stopped and the images disappeared, and come back just as quickly, the cold water rose over her head. Her ankle was being pulled at by the same hand that had gotten hold of her earlier. She threw her arms and legs about wildly, screaming in protest the whole time. Why was he doing this? Hands gripped her waist tightly. He seemed to be preparing for something. Between this realization, the ice cold, salty water, and the thought that she wouldn't see the lovely scene with her parents and Luke again, Annabeth felt like throwing up. Then, they rapidly shot down through the water. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe with every second under the waves. It was also made clear that she would not be seeing the splendid scene any time soon. Annabeth coughed violently as a reaction to the underwater torture she was being put through. She couldn't handle this much longer. Without warning, millions of tiny bubbles zoomed toward her and the owner of the hands—Percy. He formed a giant air bubble around the pair, leaving only the boy's legs to dangle out the bottom. Hers were tucked up against her chest to keep herself as small as possible. Maybe she could just be erased from this picture and reappear in the fantasy land she had been shown minutes ago. She couldn't be. There was only one thing left to do after this: cry. It was her only option. Slowly, the blond head of hair sank down to her friend's shoulder. She sobbed uncontrollably, letting out every ounce of the ache of the dream being ripped away from her so suddenly. A variety of fish swam past the two curiously. Percy shooed them away as Annabeth bawled on. The boy held onto her through it. When she settled down, he told Annabeth that he'd get them back to the ship. She nodded in reply, feeling a thousand times better with the comfort of her friend's touch.

His sweaty hand was locked into hers. The other of his shaking hands was placed awkwardly on her hip. He moved in a total Percy fashion, stepping on her toes and moving with a certain uncomfortable way. Annabeth would have laughed at him. She would have gone on about his terrible lack of dancing skills. She would have asked him how exactly he walks being this clumsy. She refrained. It was more than simple politeness. She wasn't just trying to be a good friend to Percy. There was also something on her mind. Something important hung in the back of her head, taunting her. San Francisco haunted her thoughts. She wanted to spit just thinking about the dreaded place. No reasonable parent of a half-blood would send their child _there_. Of all places, her dad wants to move to that Californian city. Of course he does. Annabeth couldn't imagine a less considerate father (mortal, that is; she could think of plenty immortal fathers she wouldn't be pleased with having). Fredrick Chase seemed to take pleasure in making his daughter's life as difficult as possible. Somehow, this stumbling dance turned into an escape to a fairytale land. It shouldn't have because Percy was anything but a prince, his dancing anything but perfect and smooth (hers wasn't much better), and their situation was certainly not the best. But it did. It became the greatest fairytale of all, with no worries. Not a single thing could go wrong right now, even though, in reality, everything could go wrong. For all she knows, either or both of them could be dead within five minutes. That doesn't matter now. It's been lost in the awkward dance that had become the most wonderful thing she had known. The moment was carefree. It was almost as if all the monsters had vanished, as if there were no Titans. It seemed as if the only thing in the world was this. If Annabeth had a choice, she would have kept it like this.

Invisibly, she tackled the idiot to the ground behind the largest cauldron she's ever seen and clamped her transparent hand over his mouth that he couldn't keep shut. She was surprised he'd been that stupid. She had thought it impossible to be that careless. She hisses a warning and takes off her cap, appearing once more. Quietly, the two had a rushed conversation behind the large bronze cauldron. They could barely make out the words of the telekhines, but they understood enough. It wasn't safe there. They saw the monsters working carefully at their weapons. Every piece of sense Annabeth had left from spending so much time with Percy shouted for them to flee. They had their information. Wasting time by staying there was anything but smart. Soon, they would be caught. The two whispered some more. Then, the telekhines were there, frantically debating on which direction to go. And Percy spoke again. He wanted her to go on her own. Percy told her to leave and tell Hephaestus. He was supposedly going to handle the monsters. Annabeth's first thought was that even Percy (who didn't think to shut up when their lives depended on their ability to stay hidden) couldn't be that clueless. He couldn't possible believe that he would survive. There was no way he could believe that he would defeat all of these monsters. Yet, he insisted. She reluctantly gave in to his plan. (Hopefully it would work.) And without thinking, she kissed him. (Demigods did tend to be impulsive.) For the second it lasted, Annabeth felt indescribably amazing. Just the moment her lips brushed across his, she felt a sudden warmth and confidence. The second the undoable action had been done, she felt as if they might have a chance. The strength she was left with might be enough. With only a quick wishing of luck, she vanished. Using this feeling of the kiss, things were okay.

A minute of holding hands tightly, holding her when she needed to be held, dancing clumsily without any regard to the music, an embarrassed brush of lips helped her make it through. With the assurance that someone was there made her feel that nothing could break her. She was suddenly sure of everything. Those little seconds of reassurance were the most beautiful.

* * *

**AN: My longest yet. And I'm actually pretty pleased with it, believe it or not. I certainly don't. For anyone that might have noticed things being different from the books, I felt I had the right to change it a little. (For example, in the second part, Annabeth's legs were tucked in, but in the book they ung out of the air bubble.) I didn't change major things, but I felt it wouldn't be nearly as good if I didn't change tiny things. I hate the fourth part. I just don't like the re-writings of that scene. It seems so perfect on its own, hardly anyone can do it justice. I've seen about one or two fics that can pull it off. I am nt one of them. It seems way to romantic to me. I can't write that kind of stuff at all. It was originally a friendship thing, but as they get older it's a lot harder to do, especially with certain events. So. Hopefully, it's not too terrible. As I said, I mostly like it. But, it was one of those 2 AM things. Then again, that might be my best time to write. I don't know. That's it for the moment.  
-Lexi**


	7. Lies & Truth

It got easier as things got harder. She had done something terrible, but in seconds, a false story had sprouted from her mouth. Her sing-song voice swam into the ears of all that could hear her as she spoke yet another tale that was anything but true, though highly believable. Lying became a reflex. It was natural. When someone asked a question, Silena lied. It was her immediate reaction. Lie, lie, and lie.

Bending the truth was an art Silena became quite familiar with. No one at Camp had to know. Charlie didn't have to see her as a traitor. Erasing all honesty, nothing could harm her. Luke would keep Charlie and her safe. He wouldn't be killed. All she had to do was tell one small fib, followed by another larger one, and another. It was that easy. She wanted protection. He wanted information. It was a done deal, settled without hesitation. Nothing was more important that Charlie's life. No matter how many promises she had broken she was pleased. Silena could forget about every untruth she'd ever told because he was safe. The tangled mess of betrayal made by the Aphrodite child didn't matter to her, in a way, even though it also meant everything to her. It was both meaningless and necessary for her existence. The lies were the reason she could have this, so they were her life. Suddenly, anything could become one of those small deceptions. Suddenly, things as simple as what she ate for breakfast were made into complex stories that were anything but reality. It was the only thing she had.

Sometimes it amazed the girl. It was to her what fashion, make up, and romance was to her cabin mates. Of course, those things would always be special to her, too, but somehow lying became a replacement. Every detail in it became something to hold onto. Maybe if she could convince someone else that, really, she was with Charlie the whole time, she could convince herself. If she told enough of these fantasies, they could be true. She could be looking no farther than her next bottle of sparkly pink nail polish or custom-made fuchsia bag. That could have been all. That was what she loved about those lies. They showed her that it wasn't so far off. They showed her how beautiful things could be. All she had to do was speak them. All she had to do was pretend. And it, in its own twisted way, would become true. In a wicked sense, her betrayal was the best thing in Silena's world.

Winding evilly around everyone's beliefs, it blinded those who were unaware and scorched the ones who knew. It was the art at its darkest, its worst. It was also at its best and most beautiful at this time. When everyone believed what they had been told, the spider web of falsities wound tighter. It became slowly more elaborate with each word Silena spoke. It was becoming a masterpiece. Its braches became thicker, longer, but also more delicate. With each syllable she pronounced, the web became both stronger and more fragile. Every sentence spoken was another edition to her carefully sewn quilt. Meaningless words danced through the air. "I'll just be heading to my cabin early," or "Nothing's wrong, Charlie, honestly," for example. Neither thing was true. She would be thinking. She would be thinking about everything she'd said since she had started helping Luke. ("Why would you think that, Chiron?" or "Oh my gods, a _spy_?") In a way, it was something she wanted to be proud of. No one suspected her, and no one was hurt by her. It was a wonderful thing, to tell a lie.

* * *

But, ironically enough, truth rivaled this.

Every word her boyfriend said was real. No matter what came out of his mouth, there wasn't a single lie. Without a doubt, he was honest. One look into his eyes, one glance at him told her everything. Immediately, Silena could tell that he would never lie to her. His brown gaze reminded her of a puppy's—so sweet and innocent, sparkling with unmistakable kindness. He was also sort of like a deer, strong, but helpless, dangerous, but not without a reason to be, intelligent, but clueless. Like a deer, Silena added bitterly, that got run over. And in this case, she would be the sixteen-wheeler coming at sixty miles an hour at the beautiful creature without any control.

Charlie was the opposite of her in many ways, aside from the obvious, such as appearances and godly parents. Of course, they had different interests. There was more. Every time Silena came near the boy, she automatically felt his presence. She could tell, even blindfolded, that he was honest, caring, and brave. He was everything Silena wasn't. She was supposed to be caring, but she hardly cared for anyone. The only people that mattered were herself and Charlie now. If those were the only thing she could save, those were the only thing she could care about—she wouldn't let herself become attached to someone or something desperately out of reach, like Camp Half-Blood or her father. Aphrodite was supposed to be about love, but she hardly knew it. Charlie, on the other hand, did. And, more importantly, he knew about trust and truth, two of the most important things Silena had ever known, and two of the things Silena lost. Her boyfriend trusted her. He told her the truth. It was more than she could ever do. She would always admire him for it.

But truth and trust are like a thin sheet of glass. They're easy to destroy. Betrayal is a two ton boulder crashing down on the glass. Of course, if the betrayal is hidden, the glass stays whole. When the betrayal leaks, it's even worse.

* * *

"I'll be going for the mission soon."

He was about to go and risk his life. He was about to lose his life, because of her, because she told Luke already. He was going away to die. Luke had lied, just like her, and suddenly, the lies held less beauty. "I'm sorry," Silena whispered. She was. It was the first thing she had honestly said for weeks.

Beckendorf looked over at her. He looked confused and sad. "For what, capture the flag?"

She smiled sadly; if only capture the flag was her biggest worry, if only her biggest regret was in a game they played at camp. "It's not important." The lies were already returning. She had spoken only two words before they crashed over her again. It made things easier, but it stung with each word. "I'm just sorry," she finished, and there was some truth in the statement.

He looked into her ever-changing eyes, as if he was trying to read her mind. Charlie gave up. "It's okay, I guess." The boy smiled at her.

She looked up from the ground. Her eyes were impossibly in between a glare and a smile.

"I love you," Beckendorf said genuinely. Silena smiled at how sure he sounded.

"I love you, Charlie," Silena muttered. She might have meant it.

The daughter of the love goddess wasn't sure. She pretended like she believed it fully. If she meant it, she could keep that. If it were the truth, she could struggle through everything she was doing, everything she had done, and everything that was coming up. She could tell a few more lies, add a few more pieces to the web that never stopped growing.

She _hoped _it was the truth.

* * *

**AN: Bleh. That was definitely not my best. That just proves my theory that the longer the piece is, the worse I do. I like some of it, but barely. I'll post it for now, but I might edit it or just plain get rid of it. I don't know. I might just keep it out of laziness, though. Hm. The next one's about Tyson, though. I really hope I do it justice.**  
**-Lexi**


	8. Friendship

"What is your name?" says the cold of voice of the man sitting at the low wooden desk.

Why is he here? Tyson doesn't belong here. He shouldn't be here. Schools aren't his place. He knows this.

"Tyson."

The balding man raises one of his abnormally thick eyebrows. "And your last name?"

The tall boy says nothing.

"I'm waiting," the headmaster snaps impatiently, and Tyson instantly realizes that this man should definitely _not_ be the one handling the students. "We're trying to help you."

The only noise in the small, cramped, box-like room comes from the tapping of the man's stubby pencil. "I'm still waiting."

Tyson frowns and the man cannot tell if he is protesting, thinking, or just upset.

"Your surname, boy!" the principal hisses. "For example, mine is Bonsai."

The boy still doesn't answer.

"Like the tree."

Tyson smiles at him, showing off his filthy teeth.

Obviously, the headmaster won't be getting a response. He murmurs, "Dimwitted child seems to have been on the streets a little too long."

The smile vanishes from the boy's face. He seems shocked. His strange, derformed-looking eyes are filled with hurt. "Dimwitted?" he asks.

The headmaster appears not to have heard. "Well, Mr. No-Name—"

The boy still looks offended. His frown is as wide as ever.

"—Tyson, that will be enough, I suppose. I'll register you as…" The man doesn't seem to have an answer. "I'll figure something out." His voice was rushed and choppy, making it clear he would like to be doing something else. "Go ahead. You can go home. Or wherever it is you go ever day."

He was supposed to be nice, Tyson thought he would be. The framed piece of paper in his office read, "Teachers are your friends!" Another's bright pink letters preached, "Set a good example by being kind to others!" Mr. Bonsai was anything but kind or friendly to him. It was awful. He had never had a friend. No one was kind to him. He thought this man would fix that. Friends were supposed to appear—the man promised Tyson something better. Already, Tyson knows that this "beneficial experience" was not beneficial to Tyson, but to only the school's reputation.

He is picked up in a strange white bus at the corner. It seems to be some sort of free transportation. Tyson thinks he could have earned money somehow, then paid for a regular bus to Meriwether Prep. He doesn't want to enter, but apparently, "law requires you get in, kiddo." After sixteen long minutes, Tyson is told to exit the bus that smells strongly of puke, detergent, gum, and dust. Meriwether looks no more welcoming this morning than it did a week ago.

"Loser," taunts a small boy as Tyson leaves the bus.

"Freak!" says another.

The insults get worse. Three or four kids shuffle around uncomfortably while the others tease the taller boy mercilessly. One boy looks up at Tyson and smiles reassuringly. Tyson wanted to meet the boy.

Very few people say anything polite to him. (One girl greets him, a teacher asks for a pen that Tyson doesn't have, and the boy passed him a note and smiled.)

Lunch is awful. Not only was the food terrible—frozen bagels, a single slice of salami with something green growing on it, a suspicious-looking peach yogurt, and expired strawberry milk—the actual activity is torturous, too.

"Hey, kid, are you enjoying your meal? It must be the most delicious thing you've ever eaten, huh? Better than the garbage you're used to, I'm sure," rings a high-pitched voice.

"But, 'Tunia, he _must _have been eating plenty of it," says another girl cruelly. She speaks as if every word is a knife, cutting through the air with such force; you have no choice but to stare at her with fear. "I mean, take a look at him."

"Guess he took a liking to the trash, then, Zo. I guess he found it to be a delicacy."

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me. He is a _freak_, isn't he?" agrees a third voice with a similar chill to it. "As you said, look at the kid."

"Jerks," mumbles the boy that Tyson actually found to be decent. "Mind if I sit here?"

Tyson sniffles, recovering from the sobs he was in due to the girls and replies, "No." He's glad to have someone to sit next to.

"Those girls?" asks the boy conversationally, pointing to the cluster of bullies.

Tyson nods. He can hardly manage words.

"They seem horrible." He pauses. "Who're you?" The boy wrinkles his nose as if he doesn't like the sound of the question.

"My name? It is Tyson."

"Cool," says the boy. "Nice name. I'm Percy."

"Thank you. Are we friends?" Tyson asks.

Percy looks startled for a moment, and Tyson hopes he doesn't leave. Then, he grins. "Sure."

Tyson can't help but feel giddy. "Friends," he repeats. The lunchroom doesn't seem so loud, the bullies don't seem so mean, and his life doesn't seem as hopeless.

"Yeah."

Forty weeks into the school year. The end of the year is undeniably here. This was the final day of school. Somehow, the months went faster than Tyson expected. Somehow, the bullies are more tolerable than the first day of school, even though they weren't as afraid of him now.

But, for days, maybe weeks (he hasn't been counting), a single thought has been haunting him: Tyson might not be able to return to Meriwether. He would lose his only friend. He had to stay at Meriwether. He had to. Apparently, Percy could tell that Tyson was upset. On multiple occasions, he reminded his friend that everything was going to be fine. Tyson didn't believe it, and Percy seemed a little doubtful as he said it.

"Honestly, Tyson. I'm serious, everything will be okay." Percy smiles uncertainly at the boy and his eyes are filled with an emotion that displays the opposite of what he has spoken.

To avoid making his friend feel worse, Tyson nods because he feels it's important to give a response. His voice is shaky when he can manage a proper reply. "It will be," Tyson tells Percy, "it will be okay."

Maybe it _will _be. Meriwether might not accept the homeless boy next year. The forgotten weirdo would go back to his life searching for food without friends, education, family, or _anything_. But, he wouldn't be without _anything_. Now, he had memories. He could think of the nice boy. He had his thoughts of laughing, comfort, and smiles. Tyson could recall every little detail of wonderful things that happened to him this year. Now, he had something. He had more than something. He had everything. He could survive everything. He could do anything. Because Tyson finally had a friend.

* * *

**A/N: I really wasn't sure how far to extend this, so if the ending seems a little mismatched or something, it's because I was debating with myself about the length. Well, I want to thank my friend that has never been on FF in her life, but inspired me to do this because the first thing she asked me after reaching this middle of The Battle of the Labyrinth was "Oh my god, tell me! Is Tyson alright?" or something along those lines. So, I felt the need to write about Tyson. I did my research on the headmaster, you can tell. I couldn't remember it at first, so I had to look it up in the book, which annoyed me because it interrupted my thoughts. Then I felt like an idiot. But, hey, it's accurate. I'm definitely unsure about this one because Tyson is very...different. Not in a bad way, obviously, but just alltogether different from other characters. Hopefully, I did a sort of decent job.  
-Lexi**


	9. Wave

Another rush of water comes toward Percy. It is unbelievably soothing, which shouldn't be a surprise because he is the son of the sea god. Somehow it is, though. It always has been. Before Camp Half-Blood, Montauk had been his escape. The icy water was the thing that maintained his sanity. The cool liquid that flooded between his toes kept him from crashing down from the weight of Smelly Gabe, school, and bullies. Now, there is more that he needs to leave during his moments at the beach. Now, he has to abandon even more, so much more. Now, the Camp Half-Blood beaches have to shield him from unbelievable ideas. They have to protect the boy from so much worse, things so much more powerful than before. The water has to absorb fears of things that never existed before. Problems that were unimaginable a couple of years ago were suddenly real. And they have to go; it is the water's responsibility to remove them from Percy's head. The next wave is even more powerful, and Percy wondered if it has something to do with the sudden burst of emotion that came to him a second ago when the magic of the beach had faded for a rare second. The smooth substance passes his toes, tickling his ankles. He doesn't get wet, of course, so he doesn't need to worry about his jeans getting soaked. He doesn't need to worry about anything. Everything there was to think about had been washed away with the first swish of water. It's always that easy. A single drop of it can cure him of practically anything. The rhythm of the tide is hypnotizing, and the ocean begs the boy to join it (he belongs there) with every movement it makes toward him. It's tempting not to give in because the sense of peace is so overwhelming. With each cool glide over his feet, the water makes him forget more. It's not in a dangerous sort of way,—it's not the deadly sort of way common for half-bloods—but a safe way. It comforts him.

It's different, too. The waves are sudden, but rhythmic. They're unexpected, but planned. (They remind him of someone he'd rather not think about.) Usually, everything comes as a surprise to the son of Poseidon. Sometimes it's because the teenager is not as observant as he could be, and sometimes the cause is the complete feeling of safety or the look of innocence about the area that makes him feel like he doesn't need to worry. That isn't as pure, though. It isn't as certain as this. The water is definite. Nothing can be guaranteed in life. Percy has learned this much. Friends won't always be your friends, you won't always succeed, and nothing lasts forever. The water is guaranteed, though. There is no doubt that it is right there. There is no doubt that it is slowly taking him. It slowly removes his mind and his heart from everything else. Percy is becoming the sea—no matter how cheesy it sounds. He can't tell at first if this is good or bad. His first thought is that demigods should always watch out for danger. His second thought reminds him of the fact that he really should be getting some practice. His third thought, the least rational of the three, tells him he should stay, but gives no further explanation. Percy being Percy, who is just as logical as his final idea, goes with the third thought because in his head, that's simply the way it works. He works on convincing himself that he mad the correct choice by muttering things about it clearing his head and he can't be successful without it. The first part is true, while the second is only somewhat honest. (He doesn't need to dive underwater ever single time he gets a paper cut, does he?) But, he needs this time. Sometimes, Percy feels like he'll just go insane with this chaos that is his life. His mom always apologizes unnecessarily, commonly using the phrase, "and being a teenager is hard enough." It's sort of true that the "normal" teenage stuff is bothering him, but obviously, the whole prophecy weighs on his mind slightly more than that. The "teenager thing" is definitely a contributing factor. That is certainly sudden. But it is anything but timed, anything but predictable. So, it's different from the waves. Everything is. Nothing can quite mirror them. They are simply one of a kind. Nothing else can be like that. (With the exception, of course, of the previously mentioned "issue" that files under both the categories of "Teenage Problems" and "Demigod Problems.")

He needs them now, the waves. Just one tiny splash of water, at the very least. He needs the water. He needs it desperately. There's nothing he needs more right now. He needs it. Why is suddenly so impossible to understand everything?

Actually, things are very easy to understand. He's going to die. That's really all there is to it. So, it isn't at all as complicated as you would think. The prophecy isn't as complicated as one would assume. In fact, it's quite simple. Percy Jackson is going to die. Removing all the details, that's all there is to it. Nothing else is really there because when it all comes down to it, he won't live. The other little complexities thrown aside, he's going to die. The choice he's been dreading will come, and end in death. It is truly a terrible end to come to, he knows. He will die making the worst or best (but either way final) decision of his life and that will be it. The world will end or be safe, though he doubts the second. And that will conclude the prophecy. The end. It will all wrap up, and he'll be long gone. People will tell stories of the awful fate of Perseus Jackson, son of the mighty sea god for ages to come, and he will be in the Underworld, facing eternal torment or the lovely Elysian Fields. He hopes for the second, but predicts the first. And when he dies, the imaginary PA system in his head will say, "That concludes the life of Perseus Jackson. The war is now over. The world has now ended. Thank you for joining us. If there is any Underworld for your soul to enter, that will be your next stop. Thank you for taking the miserable journey of life." That will be it. Those are the only words that can come to his head because everything is so final. Everything is drawing to a close, so those are the only words suitable. They have a terrible ring to them. Every syllable makes perfect sense and they echo in his ears. No one has said them, but it feels as if everyone has. It feels as if his mom, Annabeth, Grover, Tyson, Poseidon, all the campers, and even that cartoon character on the cereal box that he poured his breakfast from the other day seem to have screamed the haunting words to him at once. The repetitive vibrations of the sounds bounce off the sides of his head, making him feel sick. Why can't they leave him alone? He knows. He knows that the end is only a little while away. He doesn't need to hear it! He needs to_ escape_ it.

But you can't escape death. The one thing he needs to leave most is this, yet it is the one thing that is unavoidable. He can't run from this. His death is approaching more quickly than ever. The plain fact had always been there. It had always been right in front of him. Now, it was obvious. Now it was simply waiting for the perfect moment to hit. His sixteenth birthday that was rapidly approaching would be the end. That would be Death's moment to strike. He turns sixteen, and dies. It can't be stopped, slowed, or avoided. It is his fate. Fate is complicated and unchangeable. Trying to change it would worsen things, and denying it only brings him to the realization more painfully when it is finally seconds away from ending.

The only thing he can do is head to the water. It hardly helps, but it does something. He knows he will die. He still realizes this. Death is impossible to forget. It is tattooed on the brain, making sure that thought does not stray from it. To forget death would also be to forget life. Forgetting death would be to forget everything. It would be to forget everyone he's loved, everything he's done, and every detail of any moment, or place, or anything, and he doesn't want that. There is hardly a solution. There is hardly a true answer. However, the water does something remarkable. It cures his fear of death. Momentarily, Percy is cleansed of his idea that death is a horrible thing. For those moments in the water, he decides that while death is impossible to escape, it is not something to attempt to avoid. Every attempt would only end in failure, for eventually, Percy knows, he must die. Even if there weren't a terrible prophecy leading up to his death, he would die someday. With the water to clear his head, Percy accepts his young death. Every small wave is welcomed as an old friend, for each drop of water on his skin makes him think more clearly. The water doesn't empty his head of all thought, but rather makes him fearless, and adds, in contrast to his original idea, more thought.

The first wave is cleansing beyond comprehension, and its beauty is indescribable. It is perfect.

* * *

**AN: This is either awful or my favorite piece of my own writing. I can't tell. But the end started to remind me of Harry Potter a little, the acceptance of death. Yeah. That's just me though, and of course I'll never be as good a writer as J.K. Rowling. To even suggest that would be crazy. But I try, no matter how hopeless I may be. Anyway, I can't remember how long it's been since I updated, so if it's been a while, blame the holidays that are coming up. End of the grading quarter, or term, or whatever they call it is approaching which means loads of homework and several tests a day. Is the tense inconsistent? I looked it over several times and saw nothing, but I could easily be mistaken. I must say that I did enjoy writing this. If it was awful to read, then, at least I had fun. I'll put everyone who reads this through torture so I can enjoy myself. Evil. As I said, I loved writing it, and I hope I did okay.  
-Lexi**


	10. Innocence

Now that the trio of runaways had settled in, Thalia had time to properly survey the little girl that had joined the group of half-bloods. Annabeth Chase—that was her name, apparently—had matted blond hair caked with dirt, blood, and monster dust. Angry eyes that were the color of storm clouds were unique to the girl. Irises of dark gray observed the older pair of demigods carefully. They were slightly less fierce than they were before, though there was hardly any friendliness in them either. Truly, the girls' eyes were unusual, even to Thalia with startling orbs of electric blue making some jump at them (in addition to Aegis). Most interesting of all was a quality that many would expect to see in the eyes of a child of Annabeth's age. Most surprising to Thalia was the hint of innocence that hid under the anger. Innocence was something that Thalia was quite unused to. Here the little girl was, a runaway half-blood who'd slain several monsters, and innocence was still in her eyes. She hadn't really grown up, and become freed of childish beliefs and acts. Somehow, the girl had stayed like other children. It was doubtlessly astonishing. The girl possessed this quality that Thalia had been stripped of at a young age. For years, Thalia had lacked it. Yet, the blond girl still had innocence; she still kept the seven-year-old attitude that she should have had. The surprise was a pleasant one to say the least. So few people she had seen while running away still had that unique glint in their eyes. Annabeth's stare was, while wise, very childlike, in the sense that it had less of the seriousness that was familiar to Thalia. The dark storm that failed to leave the stare was threatening, but welcoming. Total opposites were found, and it was wonderful.

There was an everlasting smile on the girl's face. Only once after meeting the girl had Thalia seen something other than a grin (no matter how small). An angry, scared expression had been on Annabeth's face, in her eyes, when the three first met. That, however, was different. Justification could be found by taking notice of the fresh cuts on her face, proving that the girl had just faced a monster minutes ago. Anyone would have that look on their face in a situation like that. Even when facing a monster, a small smirk could be found. The child seemed to be pleased. Behind the fear was enjoyment. Having friends, Thalia noticed, appeared to make Annabeth smile, just as it should. That was how life was supposed to be, especially for people so young.

Tears seemed to be ready to flood down Annabeth's filthy cheeks, but were held back. The ever-present smile was still there, and, somehow, it appeared not to be forced. "He hates me," the girl explained, her glittering eyes staring into the black ground. They reflected the fire burning in front of the trio.

Thalia and Luke rushed to reply. Tell me about it, said the pair's eyes silently, but neither chose that specific response.

"We know, kiddo," said Luke kindly. "We really do."

Thalia smiled sadly. "Yeah," she murmured, adding to her friend's comforting words. "We all know, but it'll be okay."

Annabeth looked more like a child than she ever did before. Every bit of her fierceness was invisible, and, quite suddenly, the girl didn't seem like the type to be fighting vicious Greek monsters. She didn't seem to be the type to play with pretty-in-pink Barbie, either, of course. Thalia was pretty sure that Annabeth would look like that just as soon as she did herself. However, the girl looked much different. Appearing to be a normal seven-year-old who had just played in the mud and gotten a couple of scratches, Annabeth was startlingly different from what she was before meeting Luke and Thalia. She was more what people would think she should be. Annabeth was a regular girl at this moment, smiling around the glowing fire at her best friends. In this light, her matted blond mane appeared to be merely tangled, her stormy eyes were a dark blue-gray, and the bloody slash on her chin could easily have been caused by nothing more that an unfortunate fall on the playground. In other words, she looked both how she should have and how she shouldn't have.

Thalia wanted nothing more than to be able to hold onto this memory of this little girl. This brave girl that shouldn't have things so hard would be a lovely thought to preserve. Engraved in her memories would be Annabeth Chase, the child that stayed the seven-year-old she deserved to be. Unlike Thalia Annabeth had not been consumed by being a half-blood. The fact had not truly taken away from the girl, as it had the others. Somehow, the girl carrying a hammer had never let her difficult life subtract from her childhood. It was, at times, an awful childhood, but she was seven. And the girl was wise indeed.

Yes, Thalia would keep her in mind.

* * *

**AN: How long has it been? I've lost track. This is obviously a much shorter chapter, about half the length of my last, I believe. Pathetic, I say. I tried not to put any Lost Hero spoilers in there, but it was hinted at, if I recall correctly. I like the idea itself, but I think I could have done a better job with it. I wrote and edited it ages ago in the wee hours of the night, so if it seems to be of low quality, blame my phone or my overused mind. This was simply rotting away in my documents section, and if I'm not mistaken, several others (unrelated to this) are, too.**


	11. Silences

He loved them. Those wonderful moments of pure quietness. They were rare, uncommon, and practically impossible to come by. But they were wonderful. And they were his.

He could imagine anything he wanted to. Those five minutes that she didn't speak weren't moments filled with hatred, but with smiles. Really, the ice cold screams that suited the mood could have easily been laughter. Those tears streaming down her face could have been caused by laughter, not him. Her red cheeks could have been a result of happiness or comfortable warmth, like a glowing fire on a snowy night. They weren't the frightening, startling purple-red of frostbite, sweat, and anger. No one said otherwise. Words of protest could not be heard. It could have been something else.

Imaginary scenes swirled through his head. It was back to the old days. He was with them. They were all smiling madly, forgetting the troubles of being a demigod. Each gave their unique, hearty laughs as yet another hilarious joke was told. None of then were cold, bitter laughs. None. Each was genuine, kind. Their echoes filled the blank sound.

Maybe she didn't hate him. Maybe she loved him. She never said she didn't. The words she's never said play over and over again through the impenetrable absence of noise. "I love you. I love you. I love you." The simple words are forever on repeat, and nothing breaks them until it does the same to the dead air.

If it's not that sound that he hears when there is a lack of it, it's something else that rings through his ears. It's still related to her. To them. It still stings, but it still heals. It's just a single a word. It's a mere three syllables. Only six simple letters are in the word. Family. And it's simple. It's that simple, but it's so complex. And it hurts, but it doesn't. And it cleanses, but it makes him cringe. And it's meaningless, but after all those years it holds so much. It's nothing anymore, but it's his everything. And he can't fit it into his head, but it's the single thing he knows most about, the thing he is so familiar with.

"Luke." And the bliss is done with, over, dead. The single syllable has broken everything. It's filled with hate, disgust, anger, and indescribably burning fury. There's no pretending that she's smiling, or pretending that she's happy. It's clearly impossible. She's spoken, and made everything so terribly clear. And the peace he found is gone.

But maybe it's a good thing. The stillness of the air isn't always a pleasant occurrence.

He always has that ringing in his head. And that one simple word won't leave him. It haunts him. It's his favorite word, but he hates it above all other words in the dictionary. He hates it above all the other sounds in the world. None are worse than this one. It is, of course, that same echoing word. It is the awful, burning word. Family. To him, it's a broken word. It's a hopeless word. It's the kind of word he wouldn't dare say, and is afraid to think. It's a similar situation to a young child and a curse. It's a frightening idea to think that it could creep onto your lips and sneak out into the air. To think it is almost as bad because it ounces around your skull, vibrating as it would in the silent room. It's absolutely horrible. It's terrifying to think a word has this much power. Just a few simple syllables could make him stop for a moment. It would make him think, _What _have_ I done?_ And he's scared, so scared to even think about thinking about the word because _he _could invade at any second, and if _he_ invaded those thoughts for even a millisecond, there would be trouble. There would be much trouble. And if he didn't sneak into those thoughts, there would be no one to stop them. And that was frightening in itself.

So, maybe he needs the sound. Maybe he needs another distraction from all of this. Perhaps the noise is just as helpful. It gets rid of those frightening thoughts. The sound banishes the hopeless dreams, hopeless wishes, and hopeless words. It makes it easier. Easier. Easier to face the truth. Things won't get better. Kronos will use him. And then he'll die. He'll just be that convenient little stepping stone. He'll just be the candy wrapper; necessary for the success of the plan, but useless, and disposed of immediately when he's served his purpose.

But, then, who says you can't have a bit of a happy illusion? Who says wars can't be interrupted by simple imaginary worlds? Maybe it's okay to pretend that things aren't as bad as they are. Maybe, just once in a while, you can act like you just might get out of this chaos alive.

So, he decides, those uncommon moments of silence just might be wonderful.

* * *

**AN: Winter Solstice today... Anyone die? That's my excuse for the pathetic quality of this one. I honestly have no idea where it came from. Wherever it did, I sure hope nothing else comes from there... I suppose this would take place around the fourth book. After the third, but before _the incident_. I guess it could be after that, too. If it wasn't obvious, "she" is Annabeth. If you'd like it to be Thalia, go right ahead, I don't care, but I pictured it as Annabeth. If it seems to wander a bit in places, I agree. I started wondering where I was headed after a while. If I don;t post til then, merry Christmas/happy holidays. (I'll probably sign absoltutely everything that way until the day after.)  
-Lexi**


	12. Independence

So what if you are a bit independent?

That's just your escape from all of this.

Because having a job to do, having things you need to get done is a nice distraction from the ugly world out there.

_You need to go to work, Sally._

_You need to cook dinner, Sally._

_You need to get Gabriel some chips, Sally._

_You need to find another school for Percy, Sally._

Lovely distractions from a not-so-lovely reality. You can do everything for yourself. You are Sally Jackson, and you are a stronger woman than most. You are Sally Jackson, and you can do anything. You are Sally Jackson, and you are not afraid.

(Because she doesn't have time to be.)

She's too busy doing her work to think that she might not be all that tough. She doesn't allow herself to think that maybe she could use a bit of help. She won't let herself think that maybe Percy would be better off at Camp, that the monsters will get him. (She can only keep them away for so long…)

_Oh, Sally, try to write something._

_And Sally, you need to go shopping today._

At the end of the day, those gods don't care whether you live or die. They don't care whether he lives or dies. In fact, they couldn't care less if half the world's population were to drop dead then and there. All they care for are themselves.

But let's not think about it. You know why, not, Sally? Because you don't depend on them. It's all you. You're the only one that decides if you live or die. You are the only one who gets to live your life. You are the only person Percy needs to keep him safe. You don't need anyone else to keep yourself and your son alive.

And it's a good thing, too, you know. Those gods, they don't give a damn, do they? (They've proven that plenty of times.)

But you're still going strong, all without their help.

(You hope it feels like a slap in the face to those Olympians, who will never really care about you simple mortals.)

Percy's still alive. You're still alive. And they've sent enough at you for you to know that it isn't just luck. You are stronger than they are.

But, Sally, dear, wouldn't it be nice (oh so nice) if you could depend on someone?

Because ever since you were a kid, you've lacked that.

Your parents failed you when they died.

Your uncle failed you when you couldn't go to college. And then, he died, too.

_He_ failed you when he didn't _understand._

Time after time, people have let you down. Time after time, you were sent crashing back into reality, just when you thought you were safe.

And you are absolutely through with it, aren't you, Sally? You're just sick and tired of relying on someone who isn't worth your time, aren't you? You're going to do this on your own, like you have always thought you should, and you're going to do it properly. No one will be let down this time, especially not you, Sally. And especially not Percy. No, no, no. Neither of you. Neither of you can be let down again.

(Have fun with that fantasy…)

But, go ahead, Sally. Keep on trying. Keep believing that. And maybe one day you'll have something to show for that independent spirit of yours.

At least you won't have been left down again.

You hope.

* * *

**AN: Obviously pre-Lightning Thief. Please forgive its extreme shortness. I've only just returned to this story, and I'm quite out of practice. I've trained myself to say so little that it is now impossible to go on forever. But, that being said, it isn't my worst, I'd say. Not my best, but not my worst. Borderline, I'd say. Completely average. I apologize if you were offended by the very minor swearing. It felt like the only thing to say, though, in my opinion. Now that I've completely run out of ideas for this story, and for this Author's Note, I'd like to wish you all a happy Easter (if you celebrate it, that is; if you don't, happy Thursday). Yes, it's a bit early, but I may not post here until Monday or later...  
-Lexi **


End file.
